Under The Microscope
by ShannonSto
Summary: Grissom is on the wrong side of the interrogation table. How will he handle having his life picked apart in the ensuing investigation? Will be GS. Complete!
1. Need Help Out With That?

**A/N**: Grissom is on the wrong side of the interrogation table. Can the CSIs (OK, one in particular G) find the evidence to clear him? We all know the answer, but hopefully it'll be an interesting ride anyway. Will eventually be GS. Special thanks to Kate for her help with this chapter.

**Spoilers**: The Accused is Entitled, Invisible Evidence, After the Show and No More Bets. But nothing directly.

**Disclaimer**: I think we've pretty well established that I'm broke. And the longer I live in Las Vegas, the "broker" I get.

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Gil Grissom meandered slowly through the produce department, taking his time and studying the fruit as he did everything else in his life. The apples looked a bit bruised to his eye, and the bananas weren't any better. _Perhaps the strawberries look better_, he thought. His weekly Wednesday evening grocery shopping was a part of his routine. Sometimes he wondered if his life had become too compartmentalized and predictable, but it had worked well for him for many years and he wasn't inclined to make any drastic changes. He usually had Wednesdays off of work as well. _Could I get any duller?_ he groaned to himself.

Placing the strawberries gingerly in his cart, he made his way to the checkout stand. The cashier and the bag boy both knew him by name. He made the obligatory small talk as they checked and bagged his groceries. The tabloid headlines never failed to amuse him. "Jacko Hiding Bigfoot at Neverland." "Miracle Baby Has Seven Heads." How did _Scientific American_ always manage to miss these groundbreaking developments? He rolled his cart toward his car in the lot. As he placed the bags into his vehicle, he heard a voice calling out his name.

"Dr. Grissom!" the woman called as she approached him, grocery bag in hand.

"Yes?" He couldn't say why, but he was instantly on guard. The woman looked vaguely familiar to him.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," she spoke quickly, as though nervous. "I'm Megan, remember me? I'm the new receptionist at the lab. Been there a few weeks."

"Oh, yes. I've seen you."

"Well, God this is embarrassing, my car won't start. My brother's a mechanic. He can fix it for me in the morning, but I need a way to get home now. I just live up the street, right off Gibson. Can you give me a ride?"

Grissom definitely did not wish to have the solitude of the drive home interrupted by this woman he barely knew. But the polite thing to do would be to give her a ride, and Catherine's words of long ago echoed in his head. _Politic, Gil_. If he genuinely wanted to better connect with his employees, this would be a good place to start. And if he refused, he would be the bad guy once again.

"Okay," he sighed. "Hop in." Gil Grissom didn't know it, but that decision would forever alter his life.

"Thanks, Dr. Grissom," she said loudly as she opened the car door.

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The following evening, Grissom arrived at the lab at his customary time and parked in his customary space. When he stepped out of his car, he was confronted by a young woman with deep bruising on her upper arms.

"Hello, Megan," he greeted slowly, noting the bruising.

"Hello? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Her voice increased in volume as she spoke.

"I'm sorry," Grissom responded with genuine confusion. "I'm not following you."

"Are you going to deny this now?"

Grissom looked around the parking lot and noticed that her loud voice had attracted the attention of others. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She lowered her voice, still seething with anger. "You raped me. You drove me out to that field and you raped me. All I wanted was a ride home."

"What? I certainly did not!"

"Do you expect me to work with you now? I have to leave. I can't do this, you sick bastard."

"Megan," Grissom was flummoxed. Why was she doing this to him? "Please keep your voice down. You could ruin my reputation if anyone heard you. I'm sure we can clear this up."

"I'll clear it up for you. I've been to the hospital and had the medical examination, but I haven't filed a police report. Give me $100,000, and I won't report you."

Suddenly, Grissom caught on to her scam. "Ah, so that's what this is about. You think I'm going to pay you to keep your mouth shut about something that didn't happen. Think again."

"You're throwing your career away," she warned.

"I didn't touch you, and I trust the evidence to speak for itself. You won't win this. Do us both a favor and drop it."

"I'll see you in court." Shaking, she climbed into her car and pulled away.

Grissom took a few minutes to settle him nerves and then retreated to the safety of his office. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. If she filed charges, his professional and personal reputations could be destroyed, even if the accusation was proven groundless. If it progressed to the point of arrest, his career would instantly be over. Being cleared after arrest wouldn't help him keep his job. Surely, she wouldn't file charges, he told himself. He had made it clear to her that extortion wouldn't be rewarded. There was no need for her to take it any further.

He wondered briefly if she had really been raped. Maybe she had blacked out and confused him with her assailant. But if that were the case, would she be willing to settle for a payoff? He supposed it was possible; after all, no two people react to the same event in the same way. There was no point in worrying about it now; he had a shift to run. As if reading his mind, Catherine appeared in his doorway.

"Oh, Gil, do we get assignments tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."

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Grissom slept fitfully Friday, tossing and turning. The ringing telephone woke him at two in the afternoon. A quick glance at the caller ID box revealed: "Metro Police Crime Lab Ext 442."_ Damn, it's Cavallo. This can't be good_. He took a deep breath to help clear the cobwebs in his brain and picked up the receiver.

"Grissom."

"Grissom, this is Robert Cavallo. We have a serious problem. You need to get in here now."

"I'll be there." Grissom hung up the phone. He was stunned to realize that Megan had likely reported her assault and named him as the assailant. His hands shook as he mentally painted a picture of the comfortable life he'd so carefully crafted for himself going up in flames. Thirty minutes later, he started his engine and headed for the lab.

He found Conrad Ecklie, the day shift supervisor, in Cavallo's office with the lab director. "What's he doing here?"

"Have a seat, Grissom," Cavallo told him, closing the door behind him.

"Why is Conrad here?" Grissom asked again.

Cavallo ignored the question. "Are you familiar with Megan Phillips?"

"Yes," he replied softly.

"She filed a report this morning. She says you drove her out to a vacant lot and sexually assaulted her."

"She came to me demanding money last night. I never touched her."

"She says you did. This is an official investigation, Grissom."

Grissom pointed at Ecklie, who smirked. "Tell me he's not the investigator."

"You don't expect me to let night shift handle this, do you?" Cavallo asked. "They're way too close to it. It's Ecklie's case."

"No," Grissom insisted. "He has his own agenda."

"It's my decision."

Grissom offered a compromise. "At least let one of my CSIs work with them."

Cavallo thought about the entomologist's request for a moment. "Okay. One night shift CSI to work the investigation alongside the day shift. That way they can watch each other and we'll all be reassured that everything's on the up and up. Name your CSI."

Grissom found himself at a loss for words. _Name your CSI_. If he went by seniority, the choice was Catherine. She was also a good CSI who would bring her best game to the table. If he wanted the one who would work best with the day shift CSIs, the choice would be Nick. He got along well with everyone. If he wanted someone who knew when to keep his mouth shut, the obvious choice was Warrick. But he needed someone who encompassed all of those characteristics. Sara. She would be discreet, she got along well with most people and she was the best CSI in the lab. But would she be willing to help him after everything that had happened between them? She had never allowed her personal feelings interfere with her investigations in the past. He was extremely uncomfortable asking her, but this was his career on the line, and only the best would do. "Sidle. I want Sara Sidle."

"Okay. I'll get Sidle in and the investigation can get underway. As of now, you're officially on leave. You can be here when we talk to Sidle. After that, do not set foot in this building unless you're called in for questioning. Understood?"

Gil nodded. "Understood."

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Sara's expression as she entered Cavallo's office was one of cool detachment. If she was nervous, she hid it well. She had received a telephone call from the lab director instructing her to come in immediately, but no explanation had been offered. She sat down in the empty chair in front of Cavallo's desk, surprised to see Grissom and Ecklie there as well. Grissom appeared to her as though he were sitting in the electric chair awaiting the charge.

"Director Cavallo," Sara nodded politely. "Grissom, Ecklie."

"CSI Sidle," Cavallo began, "you're here because you've been requested by the suspect in the case."

Sara shook her head, remembering the last time a suspect's request had been granted. Grissom looked at her and studied her expression. Was she thinking of the last time a suspect had chosen a CSI? She had not been at all pleased with that situation.

"Dr. Grissom has been accused of a felony. The case belongs to day shift, but I'm willing to allow one night shift CSI to work with them so that he feels fairly represented."

She didn't know exactly what she'd been expecting, but she was certain this wasn't it. Grissom was the suspect who requested her? Why? What was the case? "I'm flattered," she replied. "But, no."

"No?" Cavallo seemed surprised by her response. "You do realize what's at stake here?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind telling us why you're refusing? You are refusing, right?"

"I think Dr. Grissom knows why. There are some…_issues_… between us. I don't think I'm the best one for the job." She stared straight ahead at the director, unable to look at Grissom.

"You don't think you'd be objective?"

"Oh, I know I could be objective. I just don't think anyone else would think I could be objective. Do you mind if I ask what the charge is?"

"Rape." Grissom spoke for the first time since she'd come into the room.

"Rape?" Sara repeated. Surely she hadn't heard that correctly.

"Sara," Grissom implored, "I really need your help here."

"I wish you'd talked to me before putting me on the spot like this."

Ecklie sighed impatiently. "Are you in or out, Sidle?"

"Director Cavallo, could you give me a little time to think this over and talk to Dr. Grissom? I'll have an answer for you in a couple of hours."

"Okay. Take a break. Talk it over. You have one hour."

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Wordlessly, Grissom and Sara walked briskly through the maze of corridors to his office. Grissom shut the door behind them.

"Why are you doing this? Are you that angry with me?"

Sara inhaled sharply. "Oh my God! Angry? Do you think I'm that petty? Do you think I'd hurt your career over some personal issue?"

Grissom looked away guiltily.

"Uh huh. You know what I'm talking about. But suddenly I'm your CSI of choice. What's that about?" She stopped to calm herself. "No, Grissom, this is not about throwing a tantrum or seeking revenge. Believe it or not, it's about doing what's best for your case."

Grissom turned back to her. "How so?"

"If this goes to trial, any evidence I collect in your defense will be called into question. Like I said, no one else is going to believe that I can act objectively here."

"No one knows. There's nothing to know."

"You know that isn't true. It's already happened once. If Phillip Gerrard can figure it out, so can others."

Grissom's confusion was evident in his face. "What are you talking about?"

"You never read the transcripts from that trial?" Sara asked with surprise.

"No."

"You should. Then you'd know why I don't want to be involved in this."

"Ecklie's team will be there. With them supervising the handling of any evidence, there shouldn't be a problem." Grissom fell into his chair, covering his face with his hands. "Sara, you know me."

She shook her head sadly. "I'm not sure I do."

He looked up at her again, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "You know me well enough to know I didn't rape that woman."

"I believe you. But I still don't think I'm the best person for the job."

"Sara, please," he said plaintively.

"They're going to pick your life apart and put it under a microscope. Are you sure you want me privy to that?"

"I need you."

Sara paced back and forth across the room then came to a stop in front of her supervisor. Her decision was made. "I'll do it, but I still have reservations."

TBC


	2. He Said, She Said

**A/N**: This is a quick update, but only because the second chapter was already nearly finished. Don't expect this _all_ of the time G.

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Sara Sidle swam in apprehension as she sat in Conrad Ecklie's office awaiting her meeting with the other criminalists investigating the charges against Grissom. For the twelfth time today, she questioned her sanity. How could she possibly have thought it might be acceptable for her to take this case? She stared at her fingernails; perhaps the answer might be hiding there.

"Good afternoon, Sidle," Ecklie gushed. "I presume you know you're working with me?"

"You're the primary?"

Ecklie grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "Yep."

"Is it just you and I?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Mitch Warren was going to be working with us, but he's had to take a homicide that just came in."

Sara gave him a suspicious glare, but then softened it. Of course he had chosen this case for himself. She couldn't help but wonder if his longtime antipathy for Grissom would affect his judgment. She decided it might be best to allow him to lead, but keep a close eye on him.

"So where do we start?" she asked unassumingly.

"We're bringing the vic in for an interview. She should be here any minute now."

"Oh, goody." From his reaction, Sara knew she shouldn't have said that aloud.

"Are you sure you're okay with this case?"

"I'm fine," Sara crossed her arms defensively in front of her abdomen. "Do we have the vic's clock exam?"

"Right here." He handed the report to her. "Bruising and abrasion on the inferior aspect. Consistent with sexual assault."

Sara winced as she examined the photographs. "It says here that the swabs came back negative for semen."

"She says he used a condom. What criminalist would be stupid enough to leave DNA evidence?" As he finished his statement, his pager sounded. He removed it from its clip and glanced at it. "She's here. Ready?"

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Megan Phillips twitched nervously in her seat as Sara and Ecklie entered the room. Recognition flickered in her blue eyes. "I know you guys," she pointed vaguely at the CSIs.

"And we've seen you. You work at the front desk, right?" Ecklie asked.

"Yeah, but I've only seen you a couple of times." She looked accusingly at Sara. "She works with…_him_. She's going to try to twist everything in his favor."

Sara took a deep breath. "I can assure you, Miss Phillips, that I'm a professional. If the evidence indicates that Dr. Grissom's guilty, then so be it."

"I think you'll find CSI Sidle to be fair and impartial," Ecklie added. "Her reputation is beyond reproach."

"Start from the beginning," Sara suggested. "Don't leave anything out."

"Um, okay." Megan appeared to be fighting back tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. This whole thing has really thrown me for a loop."

"It's all right," Sara replied. "Just tell us what happened."

"I was at the grocery store—I just needed to pick up a couple of things. Anyway, when I left, my car wouldn't start. My brother's a mechanic, so I didn't see the need to waste time or money on a tow. I just needed a ride home." She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at her eyes. "And then I saw him in the parki—"

"Who?" Ecklie asked.

"Dr. Grissom."

"I'm sorry, we just need you to state the name for the record. Please continue."

"I saw him, Dr. Grissom, in the parking lot and figured he could drop me off. I only live a half a mile from the store. I, I guess I should have walked."

"Did you ask him for a ride?" Ecklie studied her face carefully.

"Yeah, and he seemed okay with it. He was nice at first, you know?"

"Did he ask your name, or did he know it?"

"He didn't ask, but I told him anyway."

Sara mentally catalogued every expression and inflection. "You sat in the front seat?"

Megan nodded. "Uh huh. When he drove right past my street, I thought he just forgot, or maybe I didn't explain where I lived well enough. So I asked him where he was going. He said he had another stop to make first."

"Where did he take you?" Ecklie asked.

"To that housing development that's under construction up above Horizon Ridge. It's mostly vacant lots. When he parked the car, he got out and got a blanket from the back. He threw it on the ground."

Sara appeared puzzled. "Did that frighten you?"

"No, I mean, I know the guy—sort of. He's got a good reputation. I never thought he'd hurt me. At least not until he grabbed me by the arms and pushed me down on the blanket." She rubbed the bruises on her upper arms.

"Did he say anything?" Ecklie queried.

"He was all business. He told me to be still and be quiet or he'd kill me. He took my pants off. I didn't fight back—I was so afraid. I was almost in shock."

"Did he remove his own clothing?"

"No, he just pulled down his pants a little. Oh God, this is so embarrassing." As the sobs tumbled out, Sara handed her another tissue. "When it was over, he just folded up the blanket and got back in the car like nothing happened. He told me to keep my mouth shut because no one would believe me anyway. And he could make my life here really miserable."

"Did he use a condom?" Sara asked.

"Yes. He was real careful. Even combed out my hair, um, down there, so he wouldn't leave any evidence, I guess."

"Where did he dispose of the condom?"

"I don't know. I didn't see."

"Did you scratch him anywhere, or mark him at all?"

"No, no, I told you, I didn't fight back." Megan gave a distressed wail. "How could I be so stupid? You could have gotten DNA from under my nails. Damn!"

Ecklie decided to play hardball. "We've received word that you attempted to extort money from Dr. Grissom in the parking lot yesterday evening. Is that true?"

"No," Megan responded emphatically. "Is that what he told you? I saw him in the parking lot, but I didn't ask for money. I don't know why I talked to him, really. He couldn't have said anything that would make it all better. But when he denied everything, I knew I had to press charges. He shouldn't get away with treating women that way."

"Megan," Sara said softly, "I promise you that we will get to the bottom of this."

"What will you do next?" Megan sniffed.

"Well," Ecklie began, "we'll interview Dr. Grissom and get a warrant for his car and maybe his home."

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Grissom summoned up every bit of equanimity he could muster as he sat in the interrogation room. Interrogation room three had long been his favorite, though he couldn't say why. It was funny how the familiarity failed to ease his discomfort. As he stared at the mirrored wall, he knew that, in all likelihood, one or more investigators watched him from the other side. Was this all some kind of cosmic joke to the multitude of lab employees? Had he now become something of a curiosity? _Hey, come see the Gruesome Grissom in the hot seat! _He shook his head dolefully_. Take it easy, Gil, you're inflating your own importance_. He almost felt relieved when the door opened and Ecklie and Sara sat across from him.

"Hello," was all he could think to say.

"Grissom," Ecklie acknowledged with a nod.

Sara said nothing. It was rare that she found herself at a loss for words, but seeing Grissom like this sent a wave of sympathy and grief for him washing over her.

"Well, no tension here," Ecklie said sarcastically. "Let's get started."

"Where should I start?" Grissom kicked himself mentally for the utter stupidity of his question.

"At the beginning, Gil."

Sara spoke for the first time. "You were at the grocery store, right? Wednesday evening, in the parking lot."

"Yes," he responded quietly. "I was putting the bags into the car when I was approached by a young woman whom I vaguely recognized. She introduced herself as the new receptionist."

"She told you her name? Or did you remember it?" Ecklie asked.

"Why does it matter?" Being on the receiving end of the questioning was proving more difficult even than Grissom had imagined.

"The devil is in the details, Gil. You know that."

"Sorry. She told me her name, and it sounded familiar. She said she was having car trouble and that she needed a ride home. I didn't want to do it."

"Why not?" Ecklie pressed.

"I enjoy my solitude," Grissom explained curtly. "I have to deal with people at work. When I'm off duty, I want to be left alone, and I always resent any intrusion into my privacy. I didn't know her well, and I didn't want her in my car."

Elbows on the table, Sara clasped her hands together and rested her chin upon them. "But you agreed. Why?"

"I was trying to be nice. I've been accused in the past of being aloof, robotic," he gave Sara a pointed look, "of not feeling anything."

The subtle exchange between them was not lost on Ecklie. He filed it away in his mind and continued the questioning. "What happened on the drive to her apartment?"

"Nothing. We didn't even make small talk. I dropped her off in front of her building and that was the end of it."

"Did you make any sexual advances toward her?"

"No."

"Did she make any sexual advances toward you?"

"No."

"When did you see her again?"

"The next evening in the lab parking lot. She accused me of assaulting her and demanded $100,000 to keep quiet."

Ecklie leaned forward. "Here's something I don't understand: Why would she think a CSI would have that kind of money laying around?"

Grissom sighed. "I don't know."

"You know that we have to impound your vehicle," Ecklie said matter-of-factly.

"When I see the warrant, I'll park it in the garage for you." In response to Grissom's statement, Sara held up the appropriate document for him. "Fine. I'll take a taxi to the rental car counter."

"Grissom," Sara began softly, her discomfort apparent, "you should know that we've asked for a warrant for your townhouse as well."

Grissom nodded grimly and rose to leave. Ecklie stopped him. "One more thing, Gil." He retrieved a tape measure from his pocket. "I need to measure your hands."

The entomologist dutifully held out his palms while his colleague took the measurements. "Are we finished now?"

"Yep," Ecklie confirmed. "We'll see you at your place when the warrant comes through."

TBC


	3. The Warrant is Served

A/N: This is the second post for this chapter. I had to make a couple of tiny changes.

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After interviewing Grissom, the investigators had decided to call it a day and agreed to return first thing in the morning.  Sara didn't look forward to facing the outgoing night shift as she came in to work.  It didn't help matters that she hadn't slept much; she was accustomed to sleeping during the day rather than at night.  She rounded the bend in the corridor that took her to the locker room when the voices reached her ears.

"I'm the senior CSI!" Catherine groused. "This should be my case."

Warrick offered the voice of reason. "None of us in our right minds would touch this with a ten foot pole."

"Gil needs me. I'm going to Cavallo." As Catherine stormed out of the locker room, she ran right into Sara.

"I didn't want this case, Catherine.  I tried to decline it."

"They should have let Grissom choose," Nick added from behind them.

"They did," Sara informed them without emotion. 

"Sorry," Nick apologized. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Catherine softened a bit. "So, how's it going?  Can you nail her yet?"

"It's an open investigation," was all Sara offered in reply.

"Is Ecklie looking to crucify Grissom?"

"He doesn't seem to be.  I'm watching him, though."

Catherine gave her colleague a nod. "Good."

"Sidle!" Ecklie voice rang out as he approached the group. "Ready to get started?  We have a lot to do."

"Ready."

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"We got the warrant for the townhouse," Ecklie informed Sara. "Let's process the car first.  While you do that, I'll go to the grocery store and the alleged crime scene and check around to see if anyone saw anything."

Sara moved methodically through Grissom's vehicle.  She found it odd that in four years, she'd only ridden in it once two weeks ago, and that certainly hadn't been under the best of circumstances.  He'd driven her home because he felt obligated, not because he wanted to. 

The interior was clean, cleaner even than she would have expected.  It did not appear, however, that he had specially cleaned it after the incident with Megan Phillips.  No fresh Armor All on the dashboard, no vacuum grooves.  Unfortunately, she couldn't use that to help Grissom; he was a forensic expert, and would know that she would be looking for that sort of thing.  She found the expected occasional gray curl on the driver's side.  The fingerprints she lifted were likely hers, Megan's and Grissom's.  The surrealism of lifting her own prints as evidence sent a shudder coursing through her.  On the passenger side, she found several longer hairs.  She could presume that the darker ones were her own, while the light brown ones belonged to Megan. She dropped them into carefully marked bindles and marked them accordingly.

Moving to the back, she stifled a gasp when she found a blanket, neatly folded, tucked away next to the toolbox.  Relief washed over her when, upon closer inspection, it appeared to be an accessory to the first aid kit.  It was an institutional type blanket, dark green and clean enough to have never been used.  She examined it carefully, looking for signs of wear or washes, and found none.  She found no blood, no semen and no leaves or dirt.  Of course, this was only a brief visual inspection; they would have to look at it more closely in the lab.  Sara bagged and tagged the blanket, then stepped back, satisfied that she had processed the car thoroughly.

"Find anything?" Ecklie asked as he returned.

Sara shrugged.  "Some hairs, some prints.  Nothing surprising since we already know she was in the car.  I did find a blanket, but it looks clean.  I'll see that it's checked carefully. How about you? Find anything?"

"Well, we got a bag boy who saw her getting into the car with him.  He's not at work at this hour, but they gave me his number and I talked to him at home.  At the housing development, we have a construction worker who says he saw something.  Sounds significant.  I'm having him come in so we can interview him together."  He looked over the evidence Sara collected from the car.  "Good work."

"When, uh, when is he coming in?" Sara tried to camouflage her anxiety.  What could the construction worker have seen?

"Not until this afternoon.  Let's get an early lunch so we have plenty of fortitude when he have to invade Gil's place."

"I think we'd have to drink our lunch to be ready for that," Sara said dryly.

Lunch with Conrad Ecklie wasn't as distasteful as Sara imagined it would be.  He wasn't the best company she'd ever had, but he kept the conversation flowing even though the subject matter that interested him didn't hold Sara's attention.  To his credit, he seemed to be making a genuine effort to investigate the case impartially, and for that she was grateful.

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Grissom puttered anxiously around his townhouse.  He expected that at any moment two crime scene investigators and one uniformed police officer would be arriving on his doorstep and peering into everything he held private and dear.  How had he gotten into this? What did that woman have against him, anyway?  He would never physically harm any woman.  Having been raised by a single mother as a strong role model, he had nothing but respect for the gender.

He suspected there were times that one woman in particular had felt he was disrespectful to her.  How could he ever explain to her that it was precisely because he cared for her and had so much respect for her that he had mistreated her in some ways?  That thought made no sense in his own mind, so he held out little hope for it making sense to her.  And now his fate may be in her hands.  Surely the fact that he had chosen her as the CSI he trusted most must tell her how he really regarded her; at least he hoped it did.

All of his adult life had been spent carefully crafting the art of isolation; isolation from the prying minds of others, isolation from the pain of being misunderstood, isolation from needing another human being.  Today, however, he feared he would end up feeling exposed.  They would come into his home, his sanctuary, and look for evidence against him.  They would uncover every detail of his private life.  And one of 'them' was Sara. 

He couldn't hold the intrusion against her.  After all, he had chosen her.  Maybe she would learn nothing more about him, or maybe she would learn details he'd painstakingly hidden from her and everyone else.  Her admonition to him to read the transcript of the Havilland trial kept echoing through his head. Why did she feel it was important?  He assumed she'd been asked the same typed of questions that the others had, and the others had complained endlessly about their ordeals. At the time, he'd been grateful for Sara's silence.  He wasn't sure if he could've dealt with her after Gerrard dropped that bombshell about her and the paramedic.

Since he couldn't go to work, and the paper he was writing wasn't flowing well at the moment, he picked up the phone and left a message on Catherine's answering machine.  "Catherine, it's Gil.  I need a favor.  After work in the morning, could you bring me a copy of the transcript of the Havilland trial? Thank you."

After briefly considering cleaning the townhouse, he rejected the idea.  He didn't want to appear as though he was hiding something, and even Ecklie would notice the freshly cleaned look.  He looked around to see if anything jumped out at him, having no doubt that Sara wouldn't miss a thing.  If the tiniest fiber of lint were suspicious, she would find it.  On the other hand, maybe she would find the tiniest piece of evidence that would clear him.  With a resigned sigh, he realized it would be best to just go about his business and wait for them to arrive.

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Sara lagged behind while Ecklie rang the doorbell at 1000 East Laurel Road.  She could think of a million places she'd rather be than right there, right then.  As the door creaked open, Ecklie turned to the officer accompanying them. "You can wait in your car if you want.  We'll be fine."

Grissom said nothing; he simply opened the door and stood back to allow them to enter. He held out his hand and Ecklie placed the freshly printed warrant in it.  Grissom's hands were nearly imperceptibly shaking as he sat on the sofa and read the document.  He knew what it said—he'd seen thousands of them—but he needed something for his brain to do while they invaded his sanctum.

For the first time in his life, he felt it was unfortunate that he was an excellent reader; scanning the document didn't fill nearly enough time.  He tried his best to disregard Conrad, but Sara's presence, in any capacity, always warranted his attention.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, the words suddenly sounded idiotic to his ears.  She wasn't here for a social visit.

"No, thanks." Sara's lips turned up sympathetically.

"I take it my car was clean."  It was more of a statement than a question.

To an outsider, it would be difficult to discern which of them felt more awkward. "We, uh, we didn't find anything that we didn't expect to find."  Sara thought it wisest at this point to refrain from telling him of the construction worker.  For all she knew, the alleged witness would turn out to be completely inconsequential.

"I hate to intrude on the love fest," Ecklie interrupted, "but we need to get to work."

"I'm ready." Sara nodded.  Why did he seem to immediately switch gears into jerk mode in Grissom's presence?  "Where do you want me to start?"

"Where would Gil have you start?" Ecklie sneered.

_Lately? The perimeter_.  Sara squashed her impending eyeroll. As much as she wanted to respond sarcastically, she would not demean Grissom in front of his nemesis.  She still respected him too much for that.  "You're the primary," she said flatly.

"Take the bedroom.  I'll start in the kitchen."

Oh, lovely, Grissom's bedroom.  Sara had fantasized many times what it might be like to be in his bedroom, but she had never imagined these circumstances.  She wanted her visit there to be because he wanted her there, not because she had a warrant to serve. 

She took a deep breath as she entered the room.  Taking it in with her usual eye for detail, she was saddened to realize that this was how she would learn about the man who was undoubtedly meant to be the love of her life. The room was tidy, but not spotless.  The bed was unmade.  The prints adorning the wall were copies of famous works by Salvador Dali, rather than the butterfly and moth collections in the living room. How did she not know he liked Dali?  The Spanish surrealist was her favorite artist as well. She stared wistfully at the bed.  The blanket and sheets lay in a heap the way he had pushed them off when rising this morning.  She could almost picture him there, sleeping serenely, his arms wrapped around her—_Stop it, Sara! You're here to work_. _Treat this like any other search_.

She decided to start with the obvious, stripping the blanket from the bed and bagging it and then doing the same with the two she found in the linen closet.  She moved next to the drawers.  She found nothing out of the ordinary in the dresser, but the bedside table contained a surprise. 

In the top drawer was a case for his glasses, a notepad and pen and a box of condoms.  She felt sick at the discovery.  Why did he need condoms?  It made sense to her that he would need female companionship from time to time, but now that she was faced with the evidence, she wasn't sure how to cope with it.  Pangs of jealousy stabbed at her heart. Something about the box seemed odd to her.  When her curiosity overcame her disgust, she picked it up and studied. It was unopened.  Yes, that was what was odd about it; it was unopened.  Small red print on the side of the box caught her attention. _Expires April 2002._  An unopened box of expired condoms—she was surprised that there wasn't a thick film of dust on it. Suddenly she felt quite a bit better.  She put the box back into the drawer with the intention of forgetting she'd seen it.

Finding nothing else of import, and anxious to get out the bedroom, she returned to the living room.  Grissom paced like a lion in a cage.  Ecklie peered over the kitchen counter. "Find anything?"

"Nothing probative.  I bagged the blankets." She held up the bags for Ecklie to see.

Grissom stopped pacing. "Blankets?"

"She said you used a blanket," Sara explained gently.

"Nothing here either," Ecklie admitted.  "Did you get the bathroom while you were in there?"

"No, I came out to do the living room."

"All right, I'll go there then."

As Sara worked her way across the living room, she could feel Grissom's eyes boring through her.  She knew that this must be unimaginably painful for him.  The bookshelves were packed with various textbooks and journals, as well as the anticipated literary classics.  She stopped when she came to a photograph just below eye level; the absence of photographs hadn't dawned on her until she'd come across this one.  The yellowing of the paper and the clothing and hairstyles of the subjects betrayed it's age.  It featured a young woman with a boy who appeared about ten years old.  The boy clutched a blue ribbon in his right hand, displaying it triumphantly while the woman looked on proudly.

"That's my mother," Grissom said softly.  Sara hadn't realized he was standing behind her until she felt his breath on her neck as he spoke. 

"She looks very proud," Sara responded with a smile. "That's you."

"She was proud.  That was the first year that I won the Science Fair.  I did a Mendelian study with hybrid ants."

Sara's heart swelled with every bit of information that he shared freely.  She could easily envision him as the geeky child in the picture, studiously observing his ants.  She had never given much thought to Grissom's mother, but it now occurred to her that the nameless Mrs. Grissom must have been a very special woman.  Once again, she had to grudgingly remind herself that she was here on business and needed to maintain professional distance.  She also shuddered at the thought of Ecklie walking in on them.

Sara replaced her smile with a countenance of concentration and moved away from Grissom to process the other side of the room.  As before, there was no evidence to link him with Megan's assault.  "Why don't you have an attorney, Grissom? These charges are pretty serious."

He tilted his head slightly and cocked an eyebrow. "I don't need an attorney.  I'm trusting the evidence to tell the truth, and the truth to set me free."

"And if it doesn't?  Come on, Grissom, we both know that innocent people sometimes go to prison."

"If it looks like I'll be arrested, I'll obtain counsel."

Sara returned the arched eyebrow. "If it were me in this situation, you'd be pushing me to get a lawyer.  Funny how what's good for the goose isn't good for the gander. Or should I say, what's good for the gander isn't good for the goose?"  She worked as she talked, grateful again for her multi-tasking talent.

Flummoxed, Grissom stood wordlessly.  How did she always manage to do that to him?  In his entire life, no one else had ever been able to leave him speechless.  Put him behind his desk and Sara in the office doorway, and he'd be feeling déjà vu.

Sara finally made her way to the boxes stacked atop the computer desk.  She picked one up to read its label.

"Video phone," Grissom explained.  "One for me, one for my mom.  She hates the TDD, and while e-mail works, it's impersonal at best."

Sara wasn't sure which bit of information to process first: that his mother was still living, or that she needed a TDD.  Sara was almost certain that the TDD was a telephone for the deaf, but she made a mental note to research it when she got home.

"As the old midget lady in Poltergeist said," Ecklie announced as he emerged from the bathroom, "this house is clean."

"They're called dwarfs, Conrad." Grissom corrected condescendingly.

"That's quite a way you have with gratitude, Gil," Ecklie smirked. "Let's go, Sidle."

TBC


	4. The Accused is Entitled

**Spoilers**:  Heavy on The Accused is Entitled.  Transcript excerpts courtesy of Intrepid. Oh, and I'll credit Anatomy of a Lye for the tidbit that Grissom likes Mercedes-Benz.

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"Is our witness here yet?" Sara asked Ecklie as they logged in the scant items collected from Grissom's home.

"Yeah, I just got the page while you were parking the truck." Ecklie paused as though trying to decide if he wanted to say what was on his mind.  Apparently deciding to proceed, he continued, sincerity clear in his voice "Look, Sidle, for what it's worth, I think you're doing a great job keeping your personal feelings out of this." 

"Thank you."

"Let's go interview Mr…uh, Roger Harkness." He read from his pager.

Roger Harkness rose as they entered the interrogation room.  After greeting Sara and Ecklie nervously, he asked, "Why do we have to do this in here? It's creepy.  I'm not a suspect, am I?"

"No, no," Sara reassured, "you're not a suspect.  It's just standard to do it here."

"We can talk in my office, if you prefer," Ecklie offered. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable?"

"Naw, let's just get it over with," Harkness grimaced as he returned to his seat.

"Okay," Ecklie said. "Let's start with the basics.  Where were you Wednesday night about 8:30 or 9 pm?"

"I'm a contractor at the Legacy Dunes subdivision that's under construction up on Horizon Ridge.  We'd finished up hours earlier, but sometimes kids go up and throw parties, tear stuff up.  I like to cruise by periodically and check things out.  That's what I was doing Wednesday night."

"What did you see?"

Harkness furrowed his brow in concentration. "There's a section that's still undeveloped. We haven't broken ground yet. It's on the southern side, right at the foot of the mountain.  I came around that bend and I saw them from across the field."

"Who?" Sara asked.

"I don't know.  Two people on the ground.  I thought they were um, in the throes of passion, you know?  I didn't think it might be rape until you guys started asking questions today."

"Did they see you?"

"No, it was really dark, and they were, you know, busy. I was a good hundred feet away. I saw the car, though."

Ecklie peered critically at the man. "If you were a hundred feet away, how did you get a good look at the vehicle?"

"It was parked at the side of the road.  Like I said, usually people that come up there are just kids, so when I see a nice import like that, I want to check it out."

"Describe the vehicle."

"Mercedes SUV, probably pretty late model. Silver. The license plate was funny—something about bugs."

Ecklie and Sara glanced at one another.  Harkness had just described the vehicle in the garage tagged as evidence.

"So if you saw one these people again, could you recognize them?"

"No, I told you it was dark, and I didn't get close.  And they certainly didn't turn and look at me."

Ecklie tried a new approach. "The woman—did you hear her? Was she crying? Asking him to stop?"

"I couldn't tell. She was making sounds, but sex can be noisy. I honestly didn't think anything of it."

"Okay," Ecklie rose, signaling the end of the interview. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Harkness.  We'll call you if we have any further questions."

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Grissom didn't realize that he'd dozed off on the couch until he woke with a sore neck.  His mind played back the events of the day, including the search of his home by Sara and Ecklie.  He found it odd, but somewhat relieving, that he'd been able to share with Sara some of the more private details of his life.  She hadn't pushed, hadn't asked any questions; he'd volunteered information.  And she had responded kindly.  They were things that he felt he should have told her before anyway.  There was something about sharing with her that Science Fair photograph of his mother and himself that made him feel closer to her.  The distance between them had grown unbearable.  While he once thought that was what he needed, he now viewed it as a terrible mistake.  It had only served to make them both miserable.

The doorbell rang, startling him from his reverie.  With a hand massaging his protesting neck muscles, he pulled himself to a standing position and went to see who was intruding this time.   Catherine's distorted face through the peephole surprised him.  What was she doing here? She had to be at work in a couple of hours.

"Hello, Catherine," he mumbled dryly as he opened the door for her.

"How ya holding up?"  She dropped her purse on the couch and sat in the recliner, clutching a videotape in her hand.

"I've been better," Grissom admitted.

"Why did you want that transcript?"

Grissom dodged the question. "What else do I have to do?"

"Well, because I managed to finagle the night off, I stopped by the lab to get it for you."

"How'd you get the night off?  With Sara and I both indisposed, you're running short as it is."

"Lindsay has a parent's night at school, and I have amazing powers of persuasion.  I'm on call, but it's better than nothing."

"You got the transcript?"

"I did you one better. I got the transcript, and for your viewing pleasure, the video."  She dangled the tape in front of him playfully.

"You do have amazing powers of persuasion," Grissom nodded.  Who did she have to kill to get that video?

"So how big of an ass is Conrad being?"

"He's Conrad," Grissom answered cryptically. "He was reasonably restrained when they were here today."

"They were here? Why?" Catherine sputtered angrily. "The vic never claimed to be here, did she? What did they hope to find?"

"Anything germane to the case." He shrugged. "Perhaps a blanket tucked away that just happens to have Megan Phillips' DNA on it."

The blonde's mood turned more somber. "Are you sure you're okay with all of this? This has to be killing you. And then to have Sara poking around…"

"Sara's fine," he replied quietly.

"I'm sure that being adversaries in this is just what the two of you need to get back on track."

"We're not adversaries, Catherine.  Sara's job is to collect and interpret the evidence impartially.  I trust her to do that.  And I also trust that when all of the evidence is collected and interpreted, I'll be vindicated."

"Right.  I have to go get ready for parent night.  You take care of yourself, okay? Call me if you need anything."

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Sheriff Rory Atwater stood with his arms crossed and challenged the CSIs. "Give me one good reason why we shouldn't arrest him now."

"Because it be the end of his career," Sara asserted. "And that would be a disservice to all of your constituents."

Ecklie handed the file to the Sheriff. "All of the evidence we have so far is circumstantial.  There is no physical evidence to corroborate the victim's statement."

"Her S.A.E kit?"

"Suggests sexual assault," Ecklie conceded. "But it doesn't give any indication that Gil Grissom is the assailant."

"What evidence did you get from his car and his house?"

Sara set her jaw in determination. "Nothing, really.  We have hairs and prints that don't prove anything except that she was in the car, which they both admit.  All of the blankets that we found are devoid of any biological or physical evidence."

"I thought your witness give a tag number for the vehicle."

"Only a partial."

"It's really just one person's word against another's," Ecklie added.

"And how many with that partial are hanging on 2002 silver Mercedes SUVs?  Look," Atwater said, "I'm not trying to be the hanging judge.  I've met Grissom. I don't want to believe that he's guilty.  But I have a responsibility for the safety of all of the residents and visitors of Clark County.  I have to play Devil's Advocate. What do you have that may help him?"

"The hand-shaped bruises on her upper arms are at least a half-centimeter larger than Gil's hands," Ecklie countered.  When he saw Sara's stunned expression, he explained, "I'm sorry, I didn't get a chance to tell you.  That's what I was paging you about when we got called in here."

"No," Sara shook her head, "that's all right. That's good news."  She turned to Atwater. "Sheriff, I know you're between a rock and a hard place here, but please just give us a little more time.  You don't have anywhere near enough evidence for a conviction, and it's not like he's a flight risk."

"Okay.  I'll give you a couple more days.  But if another assault happens during that time, your asses are going to be in a sling."

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Grissom pushed the tape into the VCR and sat back on his couch.  He fast-forwarded through the irrelevant testimony of others, searching for the segments involving the night shift CSIs.  He saw Nick's face flash past, and rewound a little to the beginning of Nick's testimony.

Nick was being asked to choose between multiple photographs of dice.  He had neglected to properly label his evidence and was rapidly becoming quite flustered. "Never let 'em see you sweat, Nick," Grissom mumbled under his breath as he watched his CSI flounder.

Though asked prying questions about his gambling habit, Warrick appeared only mildly defensive.  His evidence was solid, and his demeanor indicated that he knew that.  Several motions and sidebars rolled by after Warrick's testimony, prompting Grissom to fast-forward again and stop when he spotted Catherine.

He winced for Catherine when "Soundbite" Westcott asked her about her proficiency and exam, and whether her misinterpretation of a question on the exam could relate to a misinterpretation of the evidence.  She simply had no rebuttal.  She'd handled confidently the questions about her personal life, but faltered on the professional inquiry.

Soon, he came to the end of the tape.  How could that be? Where was Sara's turn?  He rewound the tape slowly. When he finally found Sara's testimony sandwiched between Warrick's and Catherine's, he was amazed that he'd been able to miss it.

Sara exuded confidence and professionalism.  When asked if Hank may have positioned the bra where she wanted it, she remained cool as a cucumber.  He felt pride for the way she handled herself. Marjorie Westcott's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You do get emotionally involved, though, with the men on your cases.  Hank Peddigrew isn't the first time."

Sara's face registered confusion. _"Excuse me?"_

_"A murder investigation at the residence of one Charles Renteria.  Eyewitness stated he saw you and your supervisor…"_

No, no, please, don't go there.  Sara doesn't deserve this.  Grissom felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

_"…supervisor Gil Grissom standing alone outside…and you were touching him in a romantic gesture."_

_"I brushed chalk from his face," _Sara defended weakly_. _

_"Is that what they're calling it now?" _Westcott taunted_._

Despite an objection from the district attorney, Sara clarified.  _"Drywall dust. We were_ _looking for a body."_

_"It's a fair question, Your Honor.  Just how far will Ms. Sidle go on the evidence to please her boss, Gil Grissom, whether he returns her attentions or not?"_

The pain, shock and betrayal Grissom saw in Sara's eyes mirrored his own.  He felt sick for her.  And then another realization hit him like a shot through the heart: At that time, she all but admitted she had feelings for him, even though she was dating another man.  _Whether he returns her attentions or not_…Oh, God, she had been led to believe, by him as well as by Westcott, that he didn't care for her. Maybe she'd been telling the truth when she'd told him that she wasn't in a relationship with that guy.  Maybe she had just needed companionship that he had refused to offer.  And when he had brushed her off after learning of it, he had pushed her right into Peddigrew's arms.  If the scuttlebutt around the lab was at all accurate, Peddigrew had used her.  Dammit!  Why hadn't he just been able to tell her how he felt?

That was no crush, no infatuation—and Sara was a mature adult, not a naïve schoolgirl.  He knew now that her feelings for him were much more intense than he'd previously allowed himself to believe.  Her act of brushing chalk from his face had certainly felt like a romantic gesture to him; in fact it had taken his breath away for a moment.  And now he saw her on his widescreen television, with a malicious stranger throwing his rejection back in her face. The depth to which that hurt her was etched in her face.  She was clearly suffering every bit as much as he was, and he knew he had to assuage it.  He had to tell her the truth.

TBC


	5. A Meeting of the Minds

Sara reached out to ring the doorbell, but stopped herself.  What was she doing here? She had no idea what had possessed her to stop by Grissom's home after work.  Maybe they could brainstorm and come up with some answers in this case, she rationalized.  Her hand reached out again, this time pressing the button to alert the townhouse's occupant of her presence.

"Sara," Grissom sounded pleasantly surprised as he allowed her to enter. "Come in."

Sara stood in the foyer, feeling very awkward and trying to remember why she had come.

"Have a seat.  Can I get you anything?"

"Uh, sure," she snapped herself back into reality.

"I have wine, tea, milk, coffee and, of course, water."

"Tea's fine." She flashed him a nervous grin and made her way to the couch.  "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced like this.  You're probably sleeping at night while you're off work."

"No, I had a nap. I'm glad to see you," Grissom stumbled over the words.  He wasn't accustomed to warmly inviting anyone into his home.  He placed the glass of tea on the coffee table and sat in the recliner.  "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I'm, um, I'm not really sure.  I guess I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm hanging in there."

"Why would this woman do this, Grissom?" Sara blurted out.

"I don't know.  She asked for money."

"But when you made it clear she wouldn't get any, why did she pursue it?"

"That's a good question," Grissom agreed. "What's in it for her?"

Sara mentally ran through her list of questions.  "You're a CSI, not a CEO.  Why would she think you'd have money?"  She hoped that her tone wasn't accusatory; she merely sought answers to the thoughts that plagued her.  Her inquisitive nature was in overdrive, and this case was too important to settle for less than complete resolution.

"I inherited a great deal of money from my father," he conceded. "But I don't know how she would know that."

"I, um, I hope you know that I don't think you're guilty.  I'm just thinking maybe we can put our heads together and come up with some answers."

"I know.  And I appreciate it."

Sara took a swig of the tea. "If this was premeditated, and I'm thinking I was, how did she know you'd be at that store at that time?  Assuming she wasn't following you."

Grissom cocked an eyebrow. "Because I'm always at that store at that time on Wednesday nights."

"Ah, so all she'd have to do is watch you for a while.  See, one mystery solved already." She couldn't stop the pleased grin that spread across her face.

Grissom reached beside him to answer the ringing telephone.  His face immediately drained as he motioned for Sara to grab the extension.  She ran to the bedroom and gingerly pushed the button on the receiver, careful not to let the caller know that someone was listening.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Grissom asked.

"The price went up," Megan's voice reached Sara's ears. "For five hundred grand, I'll drop it. I'll tell them I misidentified my attacker and make a public apology."

"You're not getting a penny," Grissom replied sternly.

"Then have fun in prison." The line went dead.

"I don't get it," Sara said as she rejoined Grissom in the living room.  "What's the point in putting you in prison if she doesn't get anything for it?"

Grissom rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Maybe she's planning to file a civil suit?"

They were quiet for a few moments, each lost in his or her respective thoughts.  Finally, Grissom asked, "Sara?"

"Hmm."

"Do me a favor.  Lay the case out for me."

"Um, all right.  There isn't much of one."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, everything we have is circumstantial at best.  Your car is clean. Your house is clean. Your blankets are clean.  The most damning pieces of the puzzle from an evidentiary standpoint are the clock exam and the witness."

Grissom was surprised by both pieces.  "One at a time.  The clock exam?"

Sara felt the tension rise in her neck and shoulders, which was peculiar to her because she hadn't thought they could get any tighter.  "It looks like assault.  But we both know that if someone wanted to fabricate that, it wouldn't be difficult.  If she had a boyfriend, they could have worked together on that one."

He nodded. "She could have asked him to be rough just for that purpose."

"It would be painful, but there are people who would do just about anything for money."  Her expression was pained, and maybe a bit angry. 

"Are you okay with all of this?" Grissom prodded. "We all have our hot buttons, and violence against women seems to be yours."  He prayed that she wouldn't be offended by his concern.

"I'm not thrilled with the thought that a woman would fake something so serious," she acknowledged softly. "It's hard enough for a victim to be believed when she's courageous enough to come forward to prosecute her attacker without people like Megan Phillips around.  But I've seen women lie about it before."

Satisfied with her response, Grissom got back to the matter at hand.  "What about this witness?"

"Roger Harkness.  He's a contractor at the development. He says he dropped by to make sure things were cool at the site when he saw a couple having sex. You should probably know that he gave us a description of the vehicle and a partial plate.  They're a perfect match to yours."  She was almost apologetic as she relayed the information.

Grissom was lost in thought, and seemed not to hear her.

"Grissom?"

"The name Harkness is interesting," he said contemplatively. " I knew a Harkness eons ago.  My father's business partner."

Sara sat straight up. "It's not a very common name."

"It was forty years ago.  Hard to imagine how it could relate here."

"Oh," Sara remembered her colleague's discovery. "Ecklie showed that your hands didn't cause the bruising on her arms.  Too small."

"Ecklie? Thank him for me."

The absence of the boxes she'd seen earlier on the computer desk caught Sara's attention.  "What happened to the video phones?"

"Mine is hooked up, and I overnighted the other to my mother.  Hopefully she'll get it up and running tomorrow.  You left it, so I presumed it wasn't evidence."

His smile was infectious. "You seem to be in remarkably good spirits, all things considered," Sara noted.

"I trust you."

"Since when?"  Sara regretted the words immediately, but they had slipped out before she could corral them.

"I always have.  All of this free time has enabled me to do a great deal of thinking about things, Sara.  Wouldn't you know it, I found the perfect quotation."  He walked over to the bookshelf.  Sara's head was spinning as he searched for the appropriate passage.  Was he flirting with her?  Again?

"M. Scott Peck," Grissom read. "'The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are uncomfortable, unhappy or unfulfilled.  For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.'"

"Are you trying to say you're stepping out of your rut?"

"Don't you think I need to?"

"Only you can answer that.  I should get going.  This day shift thing is wreaking havoc on my internal clock."

"You seem like you're doing all right."  Grissom observed.

Sara yawned and looked at the clock. "I think I could get used to it, but it could take a while." 

Grissom walked her to the door.  "Thanks for coming by.  I feel a little better about my situation now."  Sara headed down the walk toward the parking lot. "And Sara? Don't"

She stopped and turned back to face him. "Don't what?"

"Don't get used to day shift."

TBC


	6. Priorities, Priorities

**A/N**:  This chapter's a little on the short side (like the last one. Sorry.).  I promise that the next one will be longer. I've been very, very busy with work, but surely it will slow down now.  I hope. G 

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Sara Sidle arrived at the crime lab nearly two hours early the following morning.  She had tossed and turned throughout the night, replaying in her mind her entire conversation with her supervisor.  A gut feeling told her that she had missed the significance of something he'd said; there was some detail she had overlooked.  Then, as the clock struck four in the morning, it hit her like a bolt of lightning:  Grissom had stated that his father had worked with a Harkness.

It was entirely possible that the revelation meant nothing; after all, there was more than one Harkness family in the world.  The elder Grissom's business partner was not likely to be related to the man who claimed to have seen the vehicle at the crime scene.  But it was worth looking into, on the off chance that a connection did exist.

Staking out a workspace among the computer terminals, Sara filled her coffee cup and got down to business.  _Big brother is watching_, Sara thought caustically as she searched for background information about Roger Harkness.   There were several individuals listed, but through process of elimination, she quickly narrowed it down to the one she felt reasonably confident was her witness.

She was so absorbed in her research that she failed to see the shadow pass by the door.  Catherine backtracked, coming into the room.  "I thought that was you.  I almost didn't see you there."

"Hey," Sara responded.  "How was your night?"

"Short.  I got called in at midnight.  Thankfully, the criminal masterminds of Las Vegas have been very unimaginative this week.  You're in early—break in the case?"

"Oh, I just needed to use the computer to follow up on a potential lead," Sara said evasively.  "Would you happen to know what Grissom's father's name is?"

"Not a clue.  Is? Was? Is he even still alive? He's mentioned his mother, but never his father."

"I don't know."

Catherine squinted at the screen.  "Who's Merrill Harkness?"

"Probably no one."  Sara shrugged.

"You want me to go away so you can work, right?"

Sara said nothing, but flashed her colleague an apologetic grin.

"Okay, but keep me posted," Catherine urged as she exited.

Sara focused on her computer monitor.  Roger Harkness was the son of Merrill L. Harkness.  After another hour had passed, she learned that Merrill had been the proprietor of a long-defunct company called Merrill Enterprises.  There seemed to Sara to be no connection between him and Grissom.  She was quite close to conceding defeat when the next clue jumped out at her.

The co-owner of Merrill Enterprises was a man named Gilbert Grissom.  Could it possibly be coincidence that the main witness in case was the son of Grissom's father's business associate?  What was the relationship between Roger and Megan Phillips?  What reason would either of them have to persecute Grissom?  She'd reached the end of the information available.  She needed to have another chat with Grissom.

It was just past eight a.m. when she logged off the computer.  On her way out of the lab, she left a message on Ecklie's desk, informing him that she'd be in later.  She pushed the buttons on her cell phone as she got into her car.  It took four rings for him to answer.

"Hello?" Grissom asked groggily.

"Hey, it's me.  I think I might be on to something, but I need to ask you a few more questions."

"…Okay."

"Can we meet for breakfast?  The diner on Warm Springs, maybe?"

"I'd rather not."

Sara felt the familiar sting of rejection.  She was putting her reputation on the line to help him, and he was doing this to her again.  "Grissom, this is important."

"I know…what I meant was that I'd rather you come over here.  I'll make you breakfast.  I'm sorry…I'm not awake yet."

She breathed a sigh of relief.  She was definitely gun shy when it came to that man.  "All right.  Is now okay, or would you rather I wait?"

"Now's fine."

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty."

"I'll see you soon, Sara."

As Sara drove, she considered the situation.  It seemed bizarre to her that in three and a half years, she'd been in Grissom's house only once.  Now she would be there in consecutive days.  This time she was invited, which only served to confuse her more.  What was he trying to do?  Why didn't he just meet her at the neutral diner?  Was he interested in privacy?  Perhaps having her over was the lesser of two evils in his mind; if he invited her to his townhouse, he had to give up a measure of personal privacy, but if he met her at the diner, there was the possibility that their conversation could be overheard, making a very private issue public.  That must be it, she supposed; he didn't really want her in his home, it just seemed like the better option at the moment.

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Grissom sat in his bed staring at the wall after he'd hung up the phone.  Had he just invited Sara over for breakfast?  She was going to be in his home for the third time in two days.  And now he'd agreed to make breakfast?  What was he thinking?  He hadn't cooked for anyone but himself for many, many years; for all he knew, he was a lousy cook.  What would she like, anyway?

He pondered his options as he got dressed and cleaned up, mentally inventorying the contents of his refrigerator.  She wasn't a vegan, right?  No, he was pretty sure he'd seen her eat eggs and dairy products.  By the time he made his way into the kitchen, he'd decided on omelets. 

Opening the refrigerator, he located the necessary supplies; eggs, of course, then bell peppers, ham, cheese…Dammit! He kicked himself internally. No ham!  Why was this such a challenge for him?  Once he'd figured out what to put in his omelets, his mind drifted back to the case.  Her words had given him hope. _I think I might be on to something._  When she thought she was onto something, she was usually correct.  He wondered what lead she had, and what questions she was planning to ask him.  He chuckled over the sheer absurdity of his thought processes:  everything he'd worked for in his life hung in the balance.  He stood to lose his professional reputation, his career, and his very freedom and here he stood obsessing over omelets.

He popped four slices of bread into the toaster and began to set the table.  The coffee finished brewing, so he poured coffee in addition to the glasses of orange juice.  A feast fit for a king, if he did say so himself.  He held the silverware up to the light for inspection; sometimes the dishwasher left spots, and that wouldn't do at all.

There was nothing left to do then but wait for Sara to arrive.  Grissom switched on the television to catch the morning news, and headed out his front door to find the newspaper.  At first glance he didn't see it.  _Paperboy must have hit the bushes again_, he thought.  As he stooped to search the hedges lining the walk, he looked up to see Sara standing over him, his newspaper in her hand. The morning sun served as back lighting for her, nearly silhouetting her.  He didn't know how she did it, but she always managed to find a way to glow. 

TBC


	7. You Stay on Grissom

**Spoilers:** Butterflied, a little.

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Grissom and Sara ate breakfast in near silence.  She found herself pleasantly surprised by the thought and effort he'd put into the meal, as well as by the knowledge that he was a decent cook.  If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn it was a date.  But it wasn't—was it?  This was Grissom, and he'd made it clear to her that he wanted no part of a romantic relationship, at least not with her.  Even if his mouth said little, his behavior for the past two years spoke volumes.

"How's your omelet?" he queried nervously.  "I'm sorry.  I wasn't sure what you'd like."

"It's good.  There's nothing to be sorry about."  She offered him just a quick peek of her gap-toothed grin.

As a wistful cast descended over his features, he explained.  "We've shared breakfast enough times that I should have at least a vague notion of what you might like."

"Apparently you do.  This is really good."

Grissom decided than that a change of subject was in order.  He'd be much more comfortable discussing Criminalistics, even if he was the suspect.  "You said you thought you might be onto something."

She swallowed her bite of toast and sipped her coffee.  "Yes.  Does Merrill Enterprises ring any bells?"

"No."

"Merrill Harkness, father of Roger, ran the company with a partner by the name of Gilbert Grissom."  Grissom's expression changed to one of mild panic.  Off his silence, Sara continued, "Is that your father?"

"Yes."

"What do you know about Merrill?"

"Next to nothing."

"What about the company?"

"Even less," Grissom replied curtly.

Undaunted, Sara pressed forward.  This was too important to let his discomfort get in the way.  If she didn't solve this soon, he could go to prison.  "What _was_ their business?"

"Nothing legitimate, I'm sure."

"Grissom," Sara sighed in frustration, "I realize that you're a very private man, but now is not the time to be evasive."

"I'm not being evasive."

"You haven't answered anything I've asked.  I didn't want this case, Grissom.  One of the reasons I tried to decline was because I _knew_ you'd do this.  You guard every little detail about yourself like it's a matter of national security."  Somehow, this wasn't just about the case anymore.  "Would it really kill you to let somebody in?"

Grissom laid his eyeglasses on the table and covered his face with his hands for a moment.  Saying nothing, he rose from his seat and plodded into the living room.  There he stood, facing the wall, with his head hung low and his hands stuffed into his pockets.  Sara stared a hole through her plate.  Her appetite had instantaneously vanished.  Exhaling deeply, she stood and joined him in the next room and stood behind him.

"I'm sorry.  I don't mean to be harsh.  It's just…I'm not asking to be nosy.  I'm trying to help—"

"I know," he responded softly.  He slowly turned to face her.  "I haven't answered the questions because I don't know the answers.  My father walked out of my life when I was five years old.  Any information I might have is secondhand."  Sara thought she saw a slight mist in his deep blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," she told him gently.  "That must have been very hard."  He nodded, and Sara pressed delicately, "What information do you have?"

"They were importing, smuggling most likely, from communist China."

"They made a lot of money," she stated evenly.

"And I'm sure that in doing so they exploited a great many innocent people on both sides of the Pacific," Grissom added solemnly.

"Is he still alive?"

"No.  He passed away in 1978."

"Do you know when he split with Merrill Harkness? Or why?"

"No."

"Any idea who might know?"

After a long pause, Grissom said, "I'll see what I can find out."

"Please do.  If Roger Harkness felt that his father was screwed out of some money, and you inherited that money, that could explain why he's trying so hard to get it from you."   She noticed his expression had sobered even more, and wondered if she'd said something wrong.

"Sara," Grissom proffered as he picked up on her confusion, "I'm trying.  I'm really trying… to let you in."

She stared, dumbfounded.  She had no idea how to interpret the unexpected admission.  There was only one other instance when she could recall Grissom showing emotional vulnerability.  He'd bared his soul while interviewing a suspect in a double murder, a murder in which one of the victims had borne an eerie resemblance to her.  His regretful _"I couldn't do it"_ had seemed to sadden him and had definitely deflated her. Even then, he hadn't seemed as fragile as he did while she stood staring at him in his own home.

"Grissom, I…" She found herself at a loss for words, desperately searching the recesses of her mind for the appropriate response.  Finding none, she stammered on, "I…don't know…" Was she imagining things, or had he moved to stand quite close? 

She felt his breath on her face as he spoke.  "It's difficult for me…to say what I feel." His voice was barely audible.

"What do you feel?" Sara voiced her question in a whisper.  There was an intensity in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a very long time—no, she corrected herself, she'd _never_ seen this degree of intensity before.  He was so close now that she began to wonder how far he would go.  She began to allow herself to believe he may actually kiss her.

An agonizingly familiar sound filled the air, and the moment was lost.  Grissom's head jerked back as though he'd been stung.  Sara brought her ringing telephone to her ear.  "Conrad Ecklie" flashed across the digital display.  "Sidle…yeah…I'm just following up on something.  I'll fill you in when I get back to the lab…okay.  Bye."

Still jittery and nervous, she smiled sadly at him.  "I should get going.  Thanks, uh, thanks for breakfast."  Her brain couldn't readily process what had just happened, and she felt the need to get out of there as quickly as possible.

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The crime lab was buzzing with activity.  Somehow, even though they handled the same caseload at night, there always seemed to be a lot more people around the building during the day.  All of the suits just seemed to Sara to come out of the woodwork.  She found Ecklie in his office.

"Hey, sorry I skipped out on you this morning," she atoned. 

"No problem," Ecklie said.  "I had a meeting first thing this morning, anyway.  Do you have something new for me?"

Sara felt torn between protecting Grissom's privacy and reporting the new lead to the case's primary investigator.  Her desire to help save her erstwhile friend's career won the battle. "I just might.  There's a link between Grissom and Roger Harkness."

His attention captured, Ecklie stopped writing his report and stared up at her. "The contractor slash witness?"

"The one and only.  Their fathers were business associates."

"What kind of business?"

"Unclear." After a brief twinge of guilt for hedging, she convinced herself that technically it was the truth.

"Can Gil clear it up?"

"He's, um, working on it."

"He doesn't know?" Ecklie sneered, irritation evident in his tone.  "Who doesn't know what their dad does for a living?"

Sara guarded the truth as best she could. "They weren't close," she replied simply.

Ecklie took the hint, and moved on to his next question.  "So is there any connection between the contractor and the vic?"

"Not that I've found.  Yet."

"I'll work on that angle," Ecklie sighed. "You stay on Grissom.  Find out what you can about the business dealings."

"Got it."  Sara left the office for the solitude of the ladies' room.  Once she'd ascertained that she was indeed alone, she slumped, back against the wall, and exhaled deeply.  "_You stay on Grissom_."  If only he knew how loaded that directive truly was.

TBC


	8. Moving In or Moving On?

**A/N**: Thanks for riding this out with me. I'm grateful to everyone who's read and reviewed.  We're nearing the end—just one more chapter after this one.  Or maybe two. G.  In any case, it'll likely be finished in the next couple of days.

This chapter is reposted with a tiny change.

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Gil Grissom finished putting the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and flipped through the channels on the television in search of intelligent programming.  He would never understand how he could subscribe to over one hundred stations, and still not be able to find anything he considered worth watching.  He leaned back into the sofa and popped open a beer.  It was early for a beer, but his head was swimming with the events of the last few days.

If he were to get out of this mess, he had to make the appropriate call to uncover the necessary information, he knew.  But the only thing he could focus on was the young brunette who'd left his home a short time ago.  He'd nearly blown it, he feared, when he'd instinctively withdrawn as the conversation turned in an unpleasant direction.  He hoped he'd been able to save the situation, but her expression as she left had been virtually unreadable.  It wasn't encouraging that she had left at the first available opportunity.  What did it mean?  Was he too late? Or did she just need more time to process it?  _God, Gil, what good will it do to win her heart if you're stuck in prison?  First things first_, he chided himself.

He logged onto his internet service, and remembering that his mother would be at the gallery at that time of day, he typed out his email and sent it to her address.  "Please call me or email me ASAP. I need to ask you some questions.  With Love, Gil."  Surprisingly, her call came ten minutes later; she already had the videophone connected.

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By lunchtime, Sara was ready for a nap.  Her computer screen was blurring, and she'd found no new information.  She staggered to the break room to refill her coffee cup.  Director Cavallo stopped her on her way.  "Sidle? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

She turned into his office and sat in the plastic chair, wondering how much she should tell him about the case.  It's just like court, she thought.  Answer the questions, but don't volunteer anything. 

"How's Grissom's case going?"

"It's coming along."

"Good, good." He smiled congenially at her, and then he adopted an expression that suited the seriousness of the situation.  "The D.A. is pushing me on this.  If this case becomes public, the PR nightmare is going to crush us."

"I understand, Sir.  But we're very close to clearing Grissom.  We've found a good bit of circumstantial evidence to indicate a frame-up."

"Okay.  I'm just checking in with you."

Sara left the office hoping against hope that Grissom had been able to find the information they needed.  She had to speak with him, yet again.  She supposed she could telephone him, but given the emotional way he'd reacted before, it seemed best to converse face to face, for optimal communication.   She chuckled at the thought that since she was at his townhouse so much in the last 72 hours, she may as well just move in with him.  She shook her head—_wouldn't _that_ thought send him running for the exit?_

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Sara smiled from behind her sunglasses. "We meet again."

"Miss Sidle," Grissom returned the grin. "Welcome."  Finding Sara on his doorstep was becoming a regular occurrence, one he was certain he could get used to quickly.

She removed her sunglasses and followed his cue to sit on the sofa. 

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you.  I, um, I hope you don't mind me intruding—again."

"Not at all.  I presume you have something new."

She took a deep breath. "Well, no.  Did you find out anything about Merrill Enterprises?" 

"I spoke with my mother," he said slowly, forcing himself to deal with the unpleasant reality of his life. "It was indeed a front for a smuggling operation.  She didn't know much about events that occurred after their divorce, but she didn't think it was beyond the realm of possibility that he double-crossed Harkness.  They were apparently good friends initially, but by 1960 or so the partnership had grown pretty contentious."

"Ecklie's working on finding a link between Harkness and Megan Phillips," Sara informed him.

"I wonder if he knows how much I don't want him involved in this."

"Maybe I'm misinterpreting, but he seems all right to me."

"Maybe he's just being kind to you to win you over," Grissom suggested. "Maybe he's planning to lure you to day shift."

"Grissom," Sara said with a little bit of irritation, "you make it sound like he's brain-washing me.  In case you haven't noticed, I'm a free thinker.  No one controls me.  If my boss tells me to wash his car, I'm going to tell him where he can park it."

"What?"

"Never mind." She waved dismissively. 

"I know you're not blindly led, Sara.  I know you too well and respect you too much to even insinuate something like that."

The irritation fell away from her voice, giving way to sadness. "Maybe it would be best for everyone if I did transfer to days."

Shock and alarm registered on Grissom's face. "How do you figure?"

"Maybe if we didn't work together, if you weren't my supervisor, you wouldn't have so much trouble figuring out what to do with me.  Maybe it would be easier…for _us_."  Her yes begged him to understand what she was saying.

"I'm sorry, Sara," his voice softened considerably. "I never meant to hurt you, or treat you unfairly."  He stood in front of her and lightly placed his hands over hers. "I know the situation is becoming intolerable.  I'm trying to change it.  Please give me just a little more time to resolve this."

Sara averted her eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked, leaning in closely.

Her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. "I'm trying to."  The close physical proximity, coupled with the emotional intensity, sent shivers up their spines.  The faintest touch of lips happened then.  The kiss was sweet and brief, but it's meaning was obvious.  Overwhelmed, Sara pulled away without warning.  "I need to get back to the lab."

He walked her to the door and watched until she disappeared down the walk.

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"Guess what?" Conrad Ecklie put a hand on Sara's arm as he met her in the hall.  "I found it!"

Sara's eyes lit up. "What did you find?"

"Megan Phillips and Roger Harkness worked together two years ago at KNB Construction in Salt Lake City." 

This was the best news Sara had heard in a long while, and she couldn't contain her grin. "Sounds like we might need to have another chat with Megan."

"They're bringing her in now," he announced proudly.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you this morning—Megan called Grissom while I was there last night.  She demanded more money."  They continued to walk side by side down the corridor.

"Well, well, well.  Do you hear this yourself, or did you get it from Grissom?" 

Sara looked away nervously. "I was listening in on the extension." 

"Miss Phillips has some explaining to do."

"Cavallo called me into his office to ask about the case," she informed him.

"Why? I just briefed him this morning.  Is he checking up on me?"

She threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know."

Ecklie relaxed. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Yeah, I grabbed something while I was out."

"Okay.  I'm going to eat.  I'll page you when Ms. Phillips arrives."

TBC


	9. Just Doing My Job

Sara dressed for bed and brushed her teeth.  Her mind was swimming with the latest events.  Just when she'd thought Grissom couldn't get any more confusing, his behavior over the last few days had completely flummoxed her. 

He'd made it clear over the previous couple of years that he had no intention of becoming involved with her on a personal level.  And yet this afternoon he had kissed her.  He'd been warm and open, as much as could be expected given the circumstances.  Was he genuinely trying to reach out to her?  _"I'm trying to let you in."_  His words had been sincere enough.  Still, she cautioned herself that it was best to keep her guard up where he was concerned.

Despite the lack of sleep, rest didn't come to her easily; she wasn't accustomed to going to bed at this hour.  After his lunch, Ecklie had informed her that Megan Phillips would not be available for questioning until the following day.  Sara wanted to compel her to appear, but at this point, she was the alleged victim, not a suspect.  While filing a false report was a criminal act, if they tipped their hand, she could flee and they wouldn't get the confession they needed.  Defeated, Sara spent the afternoon completing paperwork and headed home. 

Now she sat in her bed, alone, and let her thoughts drift to an unmade bed across town.  What was he doing?  What would it be like to share that bed with him, sleeping with his arms wrapped around her affectionately?  What would it be like to make love with him?  She tried to clear her mind of the thought, but his gentle kiss had stirred it all up within her again.

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Grissom sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the evening lights.  He didn't want to go to bed.  He'd spent his entire life sleeping alone; as an only child, he'd never had to share a bedroom with anyone.  He'd never minded.  Looking back, he realized that he had merely convinced himself that he didn't mind the isolation.

Talking to Dr. Lurie, he'd been hit with the epiphany that he was tired of being alone.  He'd spent nearly his entire life telling himself that it was all right not to connect with anyone, that he was better off not exposing his heart to danger, and now he had no one to share his life.  He needed to connect with someone, to love and be loved.  He'd chosen to remain low on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs pyramid, but now he felt the urge to ascend. 

And all of this time, she'd been right there in front of him—wanting to love him, and be loved by him. He'd passed it off as a crush, or an infatuation, but he knew he had just been rationalizing.  He always wanted her, and the thought terrified him.  It still frightened him, but at this point, he realized that he was more afraid of a future without her in his arms than he was of the risks involved in a future with her. If the last few days had done nothing else, they'd served to hammer home to him the knowledge that the things to which people cling are fragile.  He now understood the full meaning of the term carpe diem.  Sure, he'd excelled in his classes and always knew the literal translation, but the true significance of the words had eluded him.  Not any more.

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It was midmorning when Megan finally appeared for her repeat interview.  Sara and Ecklie sat across from her, their faces neutral.  For Sara, the neutral expression was very difficult; rage at the young woman was beginning to boil over in her heart.

Ecklie led the questioning. "Miss Phillips, good morning.  I'll bet you're wondering why we've called you back in."

"I'm hoping you called me to tell me you're gonna nail that bastard."

"You understand, I'm sure, that rape is a serious charge, and we have to look at all of the angles."

Megan shifted nervously. "What do you mean?"

"Are you familiar with a man named Roger Harkness?" Sara asked evenly.

"No…I don't think so."

"You've never met anyone by that name?" Ecklie pressed.

"No.  Why?"

Ecklie played dumb as he filled her in on the details. "He's a man who claims to have seen Dr. Grissom's vehicle near the site where you said you were raped the other night."

"You have a witness?"  Megan's face lit up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sara took a deep breath.  "You're certain you don't know him?"

"No, I don't know him. Do you think I'm lying?"

"We know you are," Ecklie pushed a file toward Megan. "These are the personnel records from KNB Construction.  You both worked there at the same time."

"Doesn't mean we saw each other.  I'm the victim here, remember?  Why are you questioning me?"

"We, um," Sara's calm exterior was cracking slightly, "we talked to your supervisor there, one Mike Ellis.  He said you and Harkness were an item.  You moved to Vegas together."

Megan didn't respond, but the color drained from her face.  Ecklie continued. "You want to know what we think?  We think you and Roger cooked this whole thing up to extort money from Dr. Grissom."

"Grissom's father worked with Roger's father." Sara picked up where Ecklie stopped. "He cheated Roger's dad out of some money, and left it all to his son.  Roger wants it."

"Since you think you know everything, how was my accusation against him going to accomplish that?"

Ecklie responded confidently.  "You thought you'd make a quick hit, but when he didn't go for the initial demands, you upped the stakes—asked for more money."

"When? I never did that?"

"I was on the other phone when you called him at home, Megan.  I heard you."

Megan decided to thwart the attention onto Sara. "What were you doing at his house?  I knew you two were in cahoots!  You're totally biased."

Sara gave her a pointed look. "I was there regarding this case.  Completely legit."  It took everything she had to remain controlled.

"You didn't really want him to accept the payoff, anyway," Ecklie continued, unfazed. "You knew you could get a lot more if you got a conviction and then filed a civil suit.  Look, Megan, filing a false report is a criminal offense.  We've got ample evidence against you. Why don't you just start telling the truth and maybe we'll go easy on you?"

"You don't have any proof of anything," Megan called his bluff.

"We don't have any proof against Grissom, either, especially when Harkness is disregarded."

"Just to let you know, Miss Phillips," Ecklie said sharply. "I've spoken with the District Attorney.  The case against Dr. Grissom won't be pursued.  It's effectively dropped."

"And I haven't given up on prosecuting you," Sara added.

"It seems we're done here," Ecklie declared, pushing his chair back from the table and rising. "Sidle?"

"I've got a few more things I'd like to say to Miss Phillips."

Ecklie departed the room and went to watch from the viewing gallery.  He was stunned to find Grissom standing there.  "I thought you were banished from the lab, Gil."

"I was.  Cavallo called me this morning to come in to discuss some administrative issues."  Grissom turned to him.  "Thank you, Conrad.  I owe you one."

"No, you don't." Ecklie shrugged. "It sure is fun to hear you say it, though.  You'll go back to your shift, I'll go back to mine, and…game on."

They stopped talking when they heard Sara's voice again.  "Can you imagine what it's like to be raped?  The pain…the terror…the humiliation?  So many women are afraid to come forward and prosecute because they think they won't be believed."

"You can't prove I wasn't raped."

"We both know the truth, Megan," Sara responded bitterly.  "And you were willing to destroy the life of an innocent man—a man who puts away scumbags who rape and murder, makes the world a little bit safer for all of us."

"Can I go now?"

Sara said nothing, but waved toward the door and looked away.  She sat for a few more minutes after Megan's exit and gathered her thoughts.  She heard someone enter and sit next to her, but she assumed it was Ecklie and didn't look at him.  "So I can go back to my shift now?"

"I hope so," Grissom said softly.

Sara blushed and grinned at him.  "You were listening."

"Yes.  I thanked Conrad and now I'd like to thank you."

"Just doing my job."

"Well, I'm grateful that you do your job so well.  Can I buy you lunch?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to do it." He held out his hand to her, and she placed her own in it.  "Let's go."

TBC


	10. As In A Date?

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed.  And special thanks to Maddy for the vote of confidence.

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After careful deliberation, Grissom chose a restaurant with a casual atmosphere.  It was lunch, after all, and he felt it might be wisest to keep things light on this first date.  His hands froze on the menu, his knuckles whitening.  Was this a date?  What did Sara think?  He hadn't stopped to consider that she may view it as merely a friendly lunch; a celebratory meal to show his gratitude.  He cursed his persistent insecurities and forced himself to relax.

"Can I ask you something?" Sara inquired when the waiter left to place their orders.

"Sure."  He hoped he sounded more certain than he felt.

"Why 'The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus'?"

Not understanding the question, he gave her a quizzical look.  "The Dali print on your wall," she clarified.  "The extent of most people's Dali knowledge begins and ends with 'Persistence of Memory'."

"It has a meaning on many different levels."

"Says the master of double meanings," Sara smiled.

He arched an eyebrow. "Which one would _you_ have chosen?"

"I have the DNA one in my living room.  'Homage to Crick and Watson'. Talk about multiple meanings…"

"The hand of God reaching down while mankind lines up to destroy itself.  It's very powerful," Grissom concurred.  "In my experience, most scientific people don't care much for art."

"I never paid much attention to it until I was in college," she confessed. "Then I was in the library one day looking through back issues of _Scientific American_.  They had 'Slave Market With the Disappearing Bust of Voltaire' on the cover, and it fascinated me.  I took the art course then to help fulfill my humanities requirement."

"If I remember correctly, they used it to illustrate the concept of double imagery."

"I know it's clichéd, but I also have the 'Hallucinogenic Toreador'." She took another sip of her drink. "I've always wondered what that man was smoking."

"When asked that very question, Dali answered 'I am my own hallucinogen.'"

"You're amazing. You even know art." Sara shook her head and chuckled.  "So what got your science mind looking at art?  Quid pro quo, Dr. Grissom."

"My mother runs a gallery.  Mostly surrealism, cubism and abstract," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Another little piece of the Grissom puzzle," she said, treating him to the gap-toothed grin he adored.

"After this week, you should be nearly finished assembling that puzzle."

"Not even close," she teased. "But I'm looking forward to finding more pieces."

The meals arrived, and the conversation turned more serious.  "I can't believe we can't get those two on anything," Sara stewed.

"We don't have any evidence that isn't circumstantial.  It's not worth pursuing."

"So they'll just move on to another town and another target?'

"Probably," Grissom nodded.

"Grissom…" Sara switched subjects hesitantly. "What is this?  I mean, is this just lunch…or is it more?"

Grissom swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn't clear.  "It's funny you should ask that.  I'm hoping that it's more."

"More. As in..."

He nodded nervously.  Sara gave him a gentle prod.  "As in…you're going to have to say it.  Ambiguity's not going to work anymore."

"As in," he answered with a measure of optimism, "a date."  Grissom felt his heart, and his confidence, swell when she rewarded him with that amazing smile a second time.

"Where do we go from here?"  She asked softly.

His response was honest and to the point.  "I don't know enough about relationships to have an answer for that."

"Then go with what your heart says.  No thinking required."

"It would be very ungentlemanly to do what my heart wants to do right now."

Sara's face blushed a deep red.  "That doesn't mean it would be the wrong thing to do.  Or would that make me less than a lady?"

"You'll always be a perfect lady in my eyes," he said sincerely.

"And you say you're not good at this," she chuckled. "Any way, I'm not sure that's your heart talking."

"It is. And other parts, as well.  It's all of me—body and soul."

When they'd finished their lunch, Grissom paid the bill and the pair stood beside between their cars, parked side by side in the lot.  Suddenly, the relaxed banter was gone, replaced by an awkward quiet.

"Um, Grissom," Sara broke the silence, "Thank you for lunch."

Grissom moved toward her. "You're very welcome. Thank you for coming."

They stood very close now.  Grissom took the initiative. "And thank you for not…giving up on me."

"There were times when I came very close to giving up," she admitted seriously.  "But no matter how bad things got, I just couldn't bring myself to walk away."

"I'm sorry I made it so hard on you."

"It was very hard on you, too. I know that."

"You can't begin to imagine." His breath was on her face.  "Tell me if I'm pushing my luck, but would you like to come over tomorrow night?  I think I owe you a dinner."

"Tomorrow?"

"Too soon?"

"No. Tomorrow's good."  He leaned forward, and their lips met.  It seemed like an eternity to Sara, an eternity she would gladly have extended.  When he finally broke the kiss, he pulled her into an embrace. 

As they got into their vehicles, a thought occurred to Sara, but she wasn't certain whether it was one she should voice.  She decided against it, deciding to take care of the problem herself.  She would simply have to make a stop at the drugstore on the way home.

Grissom felt the need to maintain the contact for as long as possible; he didn't want to let her out of his sight. "Sara?" he called out.  "Is there anything in particular you'd like for dinner?"

"I'll be happy with whatever you decide—provided it's meatless."  She grinned from behind her sunglasses.

"Of course." Grissom resigned himself to the fact that he would have to wait until the following day to see her again.  "I'm, uh, looking forward to seeing you."  He reluctantly closed the car door and drove away.  

The previous week had been arguably the worst week of his adult life, yet somehow he couldn't feel bitter about it. It had forced him to open himself up to Sara, even if only to a small degree.  She had learned things about him that he'd carefully hidden for many years, and the world hadn't come to a screeching halt. No locusts, no tidal waves, no implosion of his head.  In fact, he felt better about himself and his relationship with Sara than he had in a great while.  He had conquered a very deep-seated fear, and the future was shining brightly—almost as brightly as her amazing smile.  He looked forward to seeing that smile regularly for the rest of his days.

End


End file.
